


Insulting Language of Flowers

by ncserran



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: F/M, Female Protagonist, Fluff, One Shot, One-Shot, POV Female Character, Reader-Insert, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Tsundere Guzma, Tsunderes, beginning of a friendship?, it's up to you, or love?, reader is female
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 07:24:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13313274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncserran/pseuds/ncserran
Summary: based on a funny prompt I found on Tumblr---A lonely florist. A former destructive gang leader with a unique request. How will they keep each other company on this grey and dreary day?





	Insulting Language of Flowers

It was raining heavily today. Countless droplets rattled against the glass of the Petilil Blossom Flower Boutique. Lightning flashed across the ocean while thunder rumbled gently from afar. For a flower shop owner, this sort of weather was pretty depressing for your line of work. Yet, you actually liked stormy days. The white noise from the rain was as soothing as arranging flowers in a pretty bouquet. You sat on a tall stool behind the small counter of your shop. You hunched forward with your arms folded together on the surface of polished wood. Slowly , you rested your chin on your forearms, the sound of the rain lulling you to sleep. You were not afraid of getting caught sleeping on the job. After all, you own the place. Well technically, your family does - you’re just the only one available on duty.

Just as you were about to drift off to sweet slumber, there was a loud bang that jolted you awake. With the agitated clinking of the shop's bell, a tall man stood with his hand on the doorknob. He wore loose, baggy clothing. At least, that’s what you guessed it was. His dark jacket and matching sweatpants all drenched from the rain, the fabric clung to his pale skin. His white undershirt was practically see-through and almost showed the fleshy hue of his torso. A heavy looking chain necklace hung around his neck and rested against below his chest. You quickly averted your gaze upwards as politely as you could. His thick snowy hair plastered to the sides of his face, hiding his ashen sideburns. Asymmetric sunglasses rested above his head like a crown. Curious, since it’s not bright enough outside to wear a pair. Dark circles laid under his grey eyes, giving him an even more disheveled look. His lips were agape as he struggled to catch his breath and his brows knotted together in frustration from his current state. Did he run all the way here?

The man let out a few more gruff heaves, his grey stare on you before turning towards to the many sweet-smelling flowers in your stock. You gulped as he finally marched forward, letting the door fall back behind him with a click. Your eyes fixated on this man's face as he moved closer. You’re more worried about what he had in mind than the mud that trailed from his sneakers. You watched as he shoved down one of his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants to fish out something. Immediately he brought a fist back up, before bringing it back down to the counter in front of you. It made a dull thud. You flinched, not taking your eyes away from his, before trailing your gaze downwards. You notice the dark lavender tattoo art that decorated the sculpted muscles on his arms. Finally, you looked at the thin paper money flattened underneath his palms. Two one-hundred pokedollar bills. This was enough for a small bouquet of two or three flowers.

“How do I,” The man began to speak, but he paused from how ragged his breathing was. He took a moment to compose himself before he continued. “How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower?”

Another rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. You looked back up at him. You were dumbfounded. You were speechless. Did the guy know what he requested? It was so odd, yet so interesting. It was entertaining, the first bit of amusement you’ve experienced in weeks. Your confused face slowly turned into one with mirth and the corners of your mouth lift up. The man raised an eyebrow at your changing expression. His teeth gritted together when you let out a small giggle.

“Hey girlie,” he let out a low growl at you. “I’m damn serious here.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, the tips of your fingers brushing against your lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you apologized, but you could not stifle your amusement. “It’s just that this was the best request I’ve heard in a long time, sir,” You decided to admit the situation. His grey gaze squinted at you as he retrieved his hand back, leaving the money crinkled and wet on the counter. You took the bills delicately before placing them in the shops old-fashioned till. “Anyway. ‘Fuck you’ in flower, you say?” You asked, the smile never left your lips as you closed the shop till.

“Yeah, yeah,” The tall man grumbled as he placed a hand on his hips while he used the other to wave at the flowers around him. “Whichever ones says it best - but it’s gotta be real low-key, a’ight?”

You got off your seat as you went around the shop. “Of course, sir,” you chirped. “But first, please,” You reached into one of the cabinets near your counter and opened it to find a fresh, dry towel. You handed it to him and he almost seems surprised by your offer. You tilted your head when you held it in the air for him for a few seconds. Was he not used to such gestures? Just before you thought you should put it back, the man quietly takes it and mutters his thanks as he wiped his face. You notice the small stubble he had growing on his chin. It made him look older than he actually was.

“Geraniums,” you trailed off to fill in the thick silence in the shop. As you spoke, you picked out flowers in their pots to show your new (and peculiar) customer for the day. “For 'stupidity'. Foxglove for 'insincerity'. Maybe some Meadowsweet for 'uselessness'?” You watched him listen to you as he made short work of the small towel in his hand, roughly drying his hair. As he did so, the sunglasses that perched on his head fell down and landed on the bridge of his nose. You turned your face away to stop your laughter, then looked back at him once he pushed them back up to his now dried hair. It looked very poofy, like a furfrou.

“Er, maybe none of those meadowsweet things,” The man replied awkwardly . With a forefinger, he scratched at this cheek lightly in thought.

“Oh?” Your brows raised in intrigue. “So this isn’t a condescending ‘fuck you’?”

He shook his head, his lips stretch into a frown. “Nah,” he sighed. “I ain’t in no place to be condasendin’ or whatever.”

As you placed the geraniums and the foxgloves down, you decided to ask who the bouquet is for. It’s a normal question asked by florists like you anyway. It gave you a better idea of who the recipient would probably like. Even if they’re about to get passive-aggressively insulted in flowers.

The man shifted in place before finally stuttering, “The Champion of Alola.”

You choked. The Champion? The Elite Four thing was a new system here in the islands, so you felt surprised that someone got the seat so early. “You’ve got balls, mister. Did you get beaten or something?” you asked as you looked through your flowers. Your mind scrambled and tried to find what would go together with the purples and reds.

This second question only elicited a huff from your oddball of a customer. “Tch. Got my ass destroyed by the guy more than a couple of times, to be honest,” he explained. His strong arms crossed as his facial expression darkened like the clouds in the sky. “But I still wanna congratulate the lil’ runt. As much as I’d hate to admit, the kids got spunk.”

A kid? A kid took the title and not this fully grown man? No wonder he wanted this bouquet. Your own eyes scanned the shelves, the tip of your forefinger tapping lazily on your chin. As you turn your body to the left, you noticed him staring at you from the sidelines. You met his gaze, when he suddenly looks away from and turned his attention to the roses next to him. You let out a hum as you returned to the task at hand before reaching for one of the pots with bright orange flowers.

“Here we go!” you said brightly . “Orange lilies, for hatred,” The man seemed to have no complaints with that as you settled it on the table. “So what do you think of this selection, mister?”

“Yeah, sure, looks good,” he answered, his eye twitched at the way he was addressed. “An’ don’t go callin’ me that. I got a name and it’s Guzma,” He suddenly leaned forwards to you and you felt your heart stop as he did. He was quite close. "Big baaad Guzma," he drawled while a grin spread across his lips. You could smell the faint musky scent of cologne and his breath on your cheeks. You feel a sudden warmth rush up to them as you stared at him bewildered of why he dared to get so close. His half-lidded grey gaze bored into you as if he saw right through you. You squirmed for having your personal space invaded. You finally looked away and you heard him let out a small laugh. “I was joshin’ ya, girlie,” he grinned. What arrogance! “So are you gonna make the thing or what?”

You inhaled to regain your bearings, eyes still on the floor away from him as you cleared your throat. “It’ll take a moment,” you replied promptly . You couldn’t find your playful chipper demeanor from earlier. He made the mood quite tense for you now. “Feel free to stay. Although, if you want, you can leave a number and address here so we can have it delivered to you or to the recipient.”

The one who calls himself Guzma let out an ‘ahh’ and rubbed his stubble with his thumb in thought. “I’ll bring ‘em. Don’t even know their address, can’t care enough about that.”

“But enough to spend a few pokedollars for flowers for them?”

“Oh shut up, lady. Tch!”

Ah, finally. You felt your shoulders loosen from the tension earlier and you let out another smile. Guzma only glares back at you before making a small smirk of his own. “I guess I’ll be stickin’ around till it's done,” he says as he pulls one of the available stools in the shop. He plops down on it in an ungraceful manner, his clothes still wet from the rain. You should address that.

“If you are,” you crafted the words you’re about to say. “How about some fresh clothes?”

“You’re bein' too generous to me now,” he complained. “You don’t have t-“ He stopped dead in his tracks when you pull out one of the uniforms from another cabinet. You show it to him, the size fitting for a masculine person of his build. At least, you think so. He is not amused. “Aw hell no.”

“But you’ll catch a cold,” you insisted. You can’t have a customer falling ill because you weren’t hospitable enough. “If you’re that embarrassed, I can temporarily close up the shop.”

Guzma lets out a groan. You were making this difficult for him. “No need for that,” he raised his voice slightly . “Geez, it’s fine, I’ll leave, I can come back later.”

You feel your stomach drop at that. Leave? He didn’t even have an umbrella! You bet he didn’t even care for that. Still, you didn’t want to be left alone here. It’ll be awfully boring and quiet again. You wanted anything but that. You watched as he closed in towards the door, his hand reaching out for the knob once again. You felt your chest tighten and a lump rising in your throat. Without thinking, you lunged forward and grabbed his hand.

“Wha-?” Guzma let out a start, his head whipped back at you. His expression shows how incredulous he finds this situation. “C'mon, girlie, let go,“ Once again, he couldn’t finish his sentence. You looked up at him with a firmness in your brow as you tighten your grip around his hand. It was your turn to close what little distance you had with him. You took a step forward, your chest brushing against his forearm. You noticed his shoulders rise and nostrils flare as his breath hitched, but you dismissed it. You were silently begging him to stay. You waited there, watched how he scratched the back of his hair with his free hand and let out a sigh. With the hand that you held him down with, he squeezed your hand right back. “Fine,” he finally muttered. “But close the blinds. I don't want peeps I know to see me in.. preppy clothing. Ruins my street cred, y'know?”

You beam up at him. “ Absolutely ,” you reassured him, then made a beeline for the windows next to the doors. Guzma mumbles something under his breath as he reluctantly got changed. You let him know from across the room that there were more towels in the cabinet and he replies with gruff affirmation. Before you did, you looked over your shoulder to see the design at the back of his dark jacket. There seemed to be a red cross etched messily across a drawing that used to be there. It seemed like he must have added that since the paint was fading away from the rain. Once pale beige blinds covered the windows, Guzma re-enters the shop from the employee’s break room with the uniform on . It was the complete opposite of what he wore earlier.

The crisp white shirt you gave him was a bit tight on him, causing his taut muscles to be more noticeable. Pale blue jeans stopped just below his knees, giving you a clear view of his ankles. Instead of sneakers, he used one of the spare flip-flops in the shop. He looked far more laid back and approachable dressed this way. As you studied him, Guzma stood there awkwardly. One of his hands reached up to brush against the snowy tufts of his thick, unruly hair. “You didn’t use the apron?” you asked, a hint of cheek in your voice. "It's strictly part of the uniform."

“Hey, hey, I’m not workin’ for you, lady!” he smirked at you as he sat on one of the stools. You laughed, and he chuckled back. The rest of the afternoon was filled with small talk, which gradually evolved into each other's life stories. You learned he used to be a former gang leader who turned over a new leaf. You’ve heard chatter of Team Skull, but they hardly messed with the flower shop. The only Pokemon they had was the house Petilil, but they usually keep her at home. You learned about huge adventures such as traveling to different dimensions. He had an interest in Bug-type Pokemon and was quick to gush about their strengths. Despite his rough edges, you’ve come to enjoy his company. Albeit it made you slower with your work, you were coming to terms in accepting that his presence was comforting.

Soon, you've completed the bouquet. After some minor tweaks, you displayed it proudly on the counter for him. “All done!” you announced and he whistled respectfully at your work.

“Gotta hand it ya, girlie,” Guzma said. “You got a way with your hands.”

You puffed your chest out. This was one of your best works yet. Reds, purples, and oranges bloomed and contrasted against each other. It was brilliant. It was loathsome. It was the most beautiful form of ‘fuck you’ you’ve ever seen. You handed him the bouquet and waited for him to take it from you. He glanced at the windows, closed by the blinds. Then he shook his head when he could still hear the pitter-patter of rain. “Still stormin' out there,” he added, then looked at you. You weren’t too sure, but it almost seems like there was a flush of pink to his cheeks. “Mind if I uh..”

You grinned as you set the bouquet back on the counter. “Not at all,” you answered. “Beats being by my lonesome on this dreary day.”

Guzma gave a lopsided smile. “Heh, yeah.” The smile wasn't the high-and-mighty smirk from earlier. It was a real, genuine smile. You felt your ears warm up at the sight of it. Your heart thumped underneath your chest from the way he smiled. You were really going to enjoy his company.

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a practice. A warm-up before I revive one of my older works which I've left behind. I adore Guzma ever since I completed the game and I craved fanart and fanfictions of him. I was more after the smut for Guzma/Reader, then decided that I'd like some harmless fluff to balance it out. I wanted to explore the big-brother sort of side to him. How florist-reader and Guzma's relationship progresses is up to your imagination.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one-shot as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's good to write again.
> 
> \- Serran


End file.
